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on only his one good leg. The crushed claws on his left leg hung loose and useless. But he could drink, he could hunt, and he could fly.
    Early one morning, as Hero was flying over lush mountainsides, skimming the treetops, he found himself suddenly lost in a blinding mist. He flew down, and after several false attempts, landed at last in amongst the dense foliage of the jungle. There was a stream below to drink from and all the insects he could wish for. He sat on lookout, until he was quite sure it was safe, and then dropped down to the stream to drink. He was in mid-flight when he heard a thunderous pounding close by, and then a great crashing in the undergrowth. Hero flew up in alarm and perched to watch.
    A massive silverback gorilla was coming down to drink, and he was followed by his entire family. Afterwards, they settled down right below him to dotheir grooming – grunting and groaning contentedly – until at last they all fell asleep in a huddle, all except the silverback, who went and sat on his own some way off. Hero called to him. Tswit. Tswit, and the silverback looked up lazily and considered him for a while with his great brown eyes, before he dozed off.
    Later in the day, the sun lifted the mist off the mountainside and Hero flew away over the mountain. On the far side was a broad valley and a dark lake beyond. The smoke of many fires rose into the air from the valley floor. He flew lower. People, thousands upon thousandsof people living in a ramshackle city of huts and tents, a refugee city, spread out all over the valley from the foothills to the lakeside, a place of wretchedness, a wasteland of human misery that echoed with the howling cries of the hungry and the sick, the lost and the grieving.
    Hero flew out over the lake to feed, and the feeding was easy – for it was almost evening by now and the flies were down. He dipped down to drink and, as he did so, he heard from some way off a sound he knew so well – the sound of children’s voices. As he left the lake behind him, Hero saw below him a courtyard of long low buildings, and there were children laughing. They were all sitting on the ground, watching a clown, a clown in a battered bowler hat, red check trousers, a yellow spotted jacket, and floppy shoes. He was juggling and tripping over his feet at the same time, staggering about, almost dropping the balls, but never quite. The children were squealing with joy.
    Hero landed and perched on the courtyard wall and looked on. The ballswere going higher and higher and higher, and then, one by one, the clown made them disappear until there was only one left. This one he popped into his mouth and swallowed, licking his lips and rubbing his tummy with delight. The children cheered and laughed, until he hushed them to an attentive silence. Then he crouched down and began to tell them a story. As he did so another swallow came down to join Hero on the wall, and another and another, until the whole wall was lined with them. Hero knew at that moment that he had flown as far as he would go. He had all he needed here. He had arrived.
    The children listened open-mouthed in wonder as the clown finished his story. He lifted his battered hat and bowed to them. They clapped and begged foranother. It was then that the clown looked up and noticed the swallows. “Look!” he cried, pointing straight at Hero. “Look, children! Swallows. You see those birds up there on the wall? They’re swallows.”
    Two hundred heads turned and looked. “They’ve come a very long way, children,” the clown went on. “Some of them perhaps all the way from England, from my country. All those thousands of miles just to see you. Now that’s something. That’s really something, isn’t it?”

Matt’s Story
    T here was thunder about the mountain that evening, and the children were uneasy. They would be difficult to settle. Matt was hot in his clown costume, but he didn’t mind. The courtyard had rung with laughter as he’d